


in which dr. gottlieb has horrible timing

by OnyxSphinx



Series: newmann one-shots [129]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, hermann is kind of repressed but like honestly what's new, not pru compliant EVER, soft, soft science boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21992557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: some days they work efficiently. some days stretch into the early morning and leave them like this: half out of it and with unspoken things on Hermann's tongue.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Series: newmann one-shots [129]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286762
Kudos: 52





	in which dr. gottlieb has horrible timing

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "prompt: Newt looks up at him and he looks so sad and sincere and lost that Hermann wants nothing more than to run his fingers through Newt's hair and make sure he never looks that way again."
> 
> and
> 
> anon asked: "Prompt: “Do you know,” Hermann says, only vaguely aware that he is interrupting Newt mid-sentence, “I love you very much.”"

It’s morning.

Hermann doesn’t know this because of any natural light coming through the window; no; he knows it because the clock above his chalkboards ticks off the seconds and minutes and hours and—

And—

Well. It’s been one of those days. He’s been watching it.

Newton, too; perhaps. He’s been watching it since seven in the evening. It’s two am now. His fingers are cold and numb and his leg is aching and he refuses to get off of the ladder because he—

He stopped really doing anything around eleven. Newton hasn’t been doing anything since at least nine. Both of them are pretending they don’t know this.

Both of them are pretending they feel anything but ineffectual.

Romeo Blue went down in the morning. Hardfall, too; but only barely, and talking with it one of their strongest Jaeger teams after six hours of combat.

The Jaeger had limped away from the carcass of the dead beast as they and thousands of others watched and then, barely a kilometre away from the miracle mile, sputtered to a halt; the vital signs of first one pilot and then the other going offline, and then—

It fell.

Hermann tries not to think too hard about it; about how it was his inability to accurately predict the kaiju’s size that meant the Marshal sent out only one and not two teams. He tries—

He fails.

He’s looking at the clock again.

It’s December. Outside, it might be snowing. It’s Alaska; it’s unlikely to not be snowing. He wouldn’t know, though; he hasn’t been outside the Shatterdome in days and his quarters—the only other place he spends time in besides the lab and the mess hall, both of which are underground—has no windows.

Somehow it makes things better—not knowing. Somehow it makes things worse.

Newton is no longer even pretending to work. Hermann isn’t; either.

“You ever think about after?” the other asks out of the blue, and Hermann blinks. “The war,” the other clarifies.

 _Yes,_ Hermann doesn’t say; _yes, all of the time. I think of the darkness and the unknown abyss. I don’t think we can win this._ Instead he says: “Not particularly. I think about the _work_ I need to do, _unlike some people._ ”

That makes the other’s expression crack into a reluctant smile; chapped lips turning up at the corners. “I do,” he says, “I think I’d like to go back to Boston.”

“That sounds rather… _tame_ for you,” Hermann comments; brow raised; sets down his chalk and shifts to sit on the rung rather than stand on it. “You never shut up about being a—a _rockstar._ ” And he adds diersion to that, but really, it’s not heartfelt; the proclamation is something so essentially _Geiszlerian_ that without it Newton feels… _ingenuine._

“I can do both,” the biologist shoots back. “Prof by day, rockstar by night.”

“Wonderful plan,” Hermann drawls, “I’m sure you’ll look _horrid,_ ” and pretends that he doesn’t know what the other looks like in his ‘rockstar’ getup; that his heart didn’t beat just a little bit faster when, all those years back, he gave into the temptation to look for photos of the other from his band performances. That the same wouldn’t happen now.

Newton peels off his gloves with a snap; tosses them in the direction of the trashbin; strides over the line and sprawls himself over Hermann’s office-chair; puts his feet up on the desk, eyes locked with Hermann’s; a challenge.

“I hate you,” Hermann says; tiredly; and that’s a lie; but he can’t say anything _else,_ not like this; not now; not when it’s _Newton._ “You pest.”

The other grins at him; wide, eyes half-lidded with sleep; unknowing; opens his mouth to say something—

The kaiju alarm blares.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Newton yelps; overbalances and falls out of the chair, hitting his head with a nasty-sounding _crack_ against the floor and Hermann winces in sympathy; already scrambling down the ladder to his side.

“Are you alright?” he asks; hovering, hands awkward at his sides, for once ignoring the voice in his head that screams that he musn’t _show_ Newton, musn’t let him see this _weakness_ and the other blinks up at him; slightly dazed and—and _sad._

“Fine, just—surprised,” he hisses, and Hermann can’t help the way his hands dart to the other’s shoulder, for the barest moment before he remembers himself; pulls away. Newt looks up at him and he looks so sad and sincere and lost, that Hermann wants nothing more than to run his fingers through Newt’s hair and make sure he never looks that way again.

He doesn’t; they have work to do. “Well,” Hermann says; purses his lips and straightens; steps back. “Perhaps next time you won’t engage in such dangerous stunts.”

“Fuck off,” Newton mutters; pushes himself up and crosses back over to his own side of the lab, unaware of Hermann’s gaze tracking him, carefully, making sure he’s not hurt. “I’m gonna need a coffee for this.”

(Sometime around five Hermann finds the other passed out on the scant empty area on his table; cheek pressed against the cold metal, hair in disarray, shivering slightly because he’s an _idiot_ and only wearing ripped jeans and a thin shirt; purses his lips disapprovingly and fetches his thick parka and drapes it over the biologist, careful not to wake him up.)

* * *

There’s a kaiju barely five meters away.

Hermann’s head hurts; aches with the enormity of the hivemind they just tried to shove into the narrow parameters of human experience and he is so painfully glad he’s only done this _once_ but also, also, _also_ he feels terrible for _Newton_ who has done it _twice_ now, and—

And—

Hermann stumbles; Newton catches him.

He’s saying something; _he’s_ saying something that he’s not sure are words—or at least, not _human_ words at any rate—and then he’s leaning against Newton and then they’re sitting in a helicopter and the wind is howling and—

“Do you know,” Hermann says, only vaguely aware that he is interrupting Newt mid-sentence, “I love you very much.”

The other stops; stares at him and blinks. “Well,” he says, “I wasn’t expecting you to _say_ it.”

“…shut up,” Hermann says, so _tired,_ and forces his eyes to remain open; bats, ineffectually, at the other’s hands when the gently tug his head down into the biologist’s lap, card through his hair.

“Be quiet,” Newton says, and he _doesn’t_ say _everything’s going to be okay as long as we stay together_ but Hermann hears it nonetheless; the thought of it letting some of the tightness out of his muscles.

The blades beat above them; soon, they’ll be back at the Shatterdome.

But for now, they have this.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
